The story is that I was an abandoned little girl.

Emotionally abandoned, like millions of millennial kids who hated their parents and listened to Eminem.

The Matildas. The Harriet the Spies. The quiet, little mixed-race Park Slope kids with messy hair.

That was me.

This upbringing left me with a weak foundation of self, and like millions of other millennials, I am spending my adult life recovering from the black hole in my heart caused by neglect and child abuse—while also trying to make sense of a completely chaotic, technological, and foreign world.

I entered adulthood completely lost and desperate.

Yet I’m associated with success and ambition because I started a successful internet company at a young age.

But it wasn’t because I had a plan, money, or stability—no.

I was a scared, broke 21-year-old who was anorexic and totally lost in the margins of capitalism and the streets.

























I didn’t know how I was going to take care of myself, and I used what I knew about the internet to cover my ass.

The business I started was rooted in my belief that girly businesswomen deserve to be taken seriously.

It said that if a woman loves pink, or is sexy, or chooses to wear heels or miniskirts, it doesn’t mean she’s stupid or unworthy of respect.





















I wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

Millions of us did, and the brand became a globally recognized cultural phenomenon.

I sold the company when I was 24, yet I was erased from it’s historic influence.

I had to fight to be properly credited for starting the global “Millennial Pink” trend by cursing out a reporter who wrote one of the countless think pieces about the trend without doing the proper research.

This was the beginning of what would become a common theme. Involuntarily helping industry giants use my influence to make billions of dollars...without my permission.

But I was too young, curious and honestly, didn’t give enough a fuck to notice.

I was focused on myself. Back to trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I had made all the money in the world and I was 24 and finally feeling a little safe.

















I spent those days walking to Prospect Park and trying to makeup for a childhood of a jacked up nervous system.

Along that journey, things got philosophical.

Sadly.

I started to wonder how the world worked the way it did, and I discovered that I had a passion for economics, innovation, and anthropology.

Not only did I have a passion—I had ideas.

And those ideas started to get noticed by the biggest people in tech.

People you’re familiar with.

At first, this was exciting.

It was thrilling to watch actual billionaires take notes when I spoke.

This was around 2018.

But then things got dark.

I started to feel like an artist signed to a predatory label.

Suddenly, I could tell I was being watched—studied.

I was hearing that my tweets, my videos, even my image were being passed around internally at the most powerful companies in the world.

My work was being routinely plagiarized.

I went from feeling like an impressive little poster child to a juicy, secret hub of ideas that companies could exploit and steal from with no protection.

I tried to run, but I couldn’t hide.



















I tried to retire from social media, but every attempt I made to do business kept circling back to who I was online—this “tech philosopher.”

I didn’t know what to do.

My fans started to wonder where I went.

I began to realize that my online image wasn’t a switch I could just turn off and escape.

The shame and confusion about what I should do only got worse and worse.

To make things even more complicated, during this off-time I picked up pole dancing—and I was proud of it.

Now the girl who was asked to teach memes at Stanford twice and complain about not being taken seriously was bussing it wide open on the gram.

It was safe to say…. the streets thought I had lost my mind.

I had.

But it was a relief. My mind has been a source of torture for me—and for millions of other people like me.





















What good has it really given me?

What do you do when you live in a world that assumes you’re stupid because you dress sexy or because you’re a woman, yet you’re also smart enough for tech companies to sneak around your back and generate billions of dollars from your ideas while you don’t see a penny of it?

Well—you go crazy.

And I’m not ashamed of that.

I want the world to see the corner I’ve been pushed into.






















My art piece—my brand—is simply reflecting what the world already assumes about me, and letting people witness how this gap between image and substance plays out in my everyday life.

It forces the question: what is my value here?

Because it got to a point where it didn’t matter whether I toned down the sexy or not—I still wasn’t going to be taken seriously.

There was no point in trying to be accepted by the tech or business world; I was still going to be denied at the door.

Even if I knew tech. Even if I knew business.

Eventually, I caught on—like our lord and savior, Elle Woods.
















They’ll use my brain but look down on my image and they’ll use my image while discarding my brain for others.

Somehow this culture has designed itself where I am both discarded and surveilled at the same time.

There are so many leeches on me that sometimes I don’t even feel them until I flick them off.

It’s a living nightmare. I discover new ones to peel away every day. It’s disgusting.

And so that’s why I am the way I am. That’s why you see the sex and the brain. I’m playing a trick on you. What matters more? What is valued more?

Idk. I’m being used for both and haven’t been properly compensated for either of them.




















What started as an innocent journey toward basic safety and a sense of home for my inner Park Slope kid transcended into an industry picking me apart and leaving me exposed.

And yes—I want you to see the discomfort of being broken down into pieces.

Of what it’s like to be a host to parasites.

I don’t care if it scares you or makes you uncomfortable.

Why should I be the only one who’s scared?

This discomfort reflects a culture that doesn’t know how to process the fruit it bears.

We receive so many conflicting messages about who to be and what to do because we are building a world too fast to keep up with—and we’re far too terrified to admit that.

Instead of fighting or resisting these pressures, I think there’s more power in letting them shape me and forcing the world to see the shape they take. It’s time we start embracing this strange fruit.

By not resisting, but embodying man’s “dark, twisted fantasy,” I don’t have to demonize it or explain it—it reveals its own perversion for me.

There’s no use in running or hiding. I’m done.

Why tell you how barbaric and perverse the world has become when I can simply lie down and let you watch what it’s like to be eaten alive?